


Dextrous

by sciencefictioness



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Back On My 'Caught Masturbating' Bullshit, Body Horror, Cyborg Genji Shimada, Cyborg Transformation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 13:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19992745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: There is always someone close, slipping in to fuck with him.How are you feeling, how is your pain?  I need to check your incisions.Turn over for me, Genji.Everything is different, now.Everything is the same.When his wounds have healed, it’s worse.  There are implants in his brain, and metal in his spine; the incessant glow of his irises, the constant ache in his head.  There is pain in bones he doesn’t have anymore.  There are ghosts in the corners of his vision— his father, his brother.The man he used to be.Not everything is miserable.There is also Jesse.





	Dextrous

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day six of mcgenji week, 'Lending A Hand'

There is always someone close, slipping in to fuck with him.

_ How are you feeling, how is your pain? I need to check your incisions. _

_ Turn over for me, Genji. _

Everything is different, now.

Everything is the same.

When his wounds have healed, it’s worse. There are implants in his brain, and metal in his spine; the incessant glow of his irises, the constant ache in his head. There is pain in bones he doesn’t have anymore. There are ghosts in the corners of his vision— his father, his brother.

The man he used to be.

Not everything is miserable.

There is also Jesse.

Jesse and his soft smile and his stupid hat and his laugh that is much too loud in the quiet of the medbay. Jesse and his deck of cards, dealing Genji in whether he likes it or not. Cheating at poker, telling Genji lies. 

Showing up in Genji’s hospital room like he’s coming back home, all relieved sighs and bright eyes.

_ Hey there gorgeous, been missing you. _

Somewhere along the way Genji started believing him.

Jesse and his rough fingers in Genji’s hair and his thumbs digging into Genji’s sore muscles, unflinching as he massages over fresh scars and uneven skin. Jesse and shitty tablet with a crack through the middle, and the even shittier westerns downloaded there,  _ no, baby, this one’s real good, I swear! _

Jesse and his endless fucking patience.

Genji pushes, and pushes, and Jesse takes all his vitriol and hostility and unravels it; slips through the sharpness to find Genji shaking inside. Slips through the viciousness to find him in agony.

Slips through the fury to find him terrified, and Jesse kisses his knuckles, and doesn’t run.

Jesse kisses him on the mouth the first time— tentative, like he thinks Genji might pull away. Like he thinks he might break. Jesse kisses him, fast and chaste, and falls asleep in his bed.

Then he’s gone the next morning on a mission, nothing but a note on Genji’s nightstand,  _ didn’t wanna wake you, gorgeous. _

_ Be back before you know it. _

Telling him lies, again.

If Jesse is gone, Genji knows. 

Jesse kisses him and disappears and Genji is aching again, in ways he hasn’t had to worry about since he’d been cut into pieces at the end of Hanzo’s sword. Something he lost that felt meaningless, held up to the rest.

Then Jesse pets through his hair, or calls him beautiful, and there is a desperate edge to it Genji can’t ignore. An edge he can’t ease.

His prosthetics are being recalibrated again— made, and remade. Genji doesn’t mind, usually, but now he’s alone with an empty space on his shoulder where his right arm should be, and an empty space in his bed where Jesse should be; Genji’s left glaring at the walls, stir-crazy and simmering with want.

Jesse is supposed to be back on base today, but Genji doesn’t know when, and he doesn’t have the patience to wait.

He also doesn’t know how to ask for what he needs without sounding pathetic. It’s been so long since Genji has been like this— hard in his clothes half the time, restless and hungry. It used to be a simple itch to scratch; flirt his way into someone’s bed, or them into his. Effortless. Easy. 

Meaningless.

Except Genji doesn’t want anyone but Jesse, now, and getting off on his own is impossible. His left arm is clumsy, and aches when he overuses it.

Falters when he’s close, so close, mumbling into his shoulder and arching painfully in sheets,  _ please, please, come on, please… _

Then the pain shoots through him, and his climax rolls further away, leaving Genji chasing a release he cannot seem to catch.

Today with the memory of Jesse’s lips on his own and the echo of Jesse’s voice in his ears and the soft cotton of Jesse’s hoodie pressed to his nose, Genji still has to try. 

O’Deorain has come and gone. Her technicians are through plugging wires into his ports, and running electricity into his brain. Dye through his veins, data into his cybernetics. Static has a taste, like sparks on cotton in the dark; it hums between his teeth, and settles in his jaw. 

There’s a ringing in his head that will be there for the rest of the day. Genji’s spine will feel like an uneven stack of ceramic plates long into the night, shifting and grinding into one another.

He still thinks of Jesse. Slips his hand into his clothes.

Genji has a few hours of peace and quiet before they return, and he will take what he can get.

Jesse’s hoodie is laid out across Genji’s pillow. He turns his face into it, breathes in traces of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne. Genji thinks of Jesse’s fingers on his cheek, tracing lovingly over the synthetic black of his chin. Lingering on the scars without hesitation, like they are just another part of Genji for him to learn. Big hands, big voice, big arms.

There is so much of Jesse.

Enough to tuck himself into, and hide. 

Enough to swallow Genji whole. He works himself faster, licking a stripe over his palm to ease the slide, breathing picking up. Genji thinks of Jesse’s nose in his hair, uneven in places on the back of his head; patchy where they’ve shaved it for one surgery or another. 

Jesse never flinches, never recoils. 

Genji is twisted up inside until he barely recognizes himself, and Jesse is still there, holding him close. Heat pools higher in him, hums in his stomach and rolls out in waves. Jesse’s mouth, Jesse’s touch; closer, closer.

Not close enough.

A few minutes in and there’s already an ache thrumming through his arm and a twinge in his wrist. Genji shoves his face harder into Jesse’s hoodie, arching in the sheets, teeth gritted against the pain. Just a little more, he thinks, except now the nerves in his forearm are lighting up like they’re electrified, pins and needles turned nails and knives. The implants there throb. Genji’s neck is at a strange angle as he writhes in place, and it pulls at the tubing feeding into the top of his spine, the tug going down into his bones. 

Like someone pulling at a stitch that’s buried deep, and not ready to come out.

“Please.”

He’s mumbling incoherently, words muffled into cotton. His eyes are wrenched shut, stinging with unshed tears— whether they are from pain, or frustration, Genji isn’t sure. 

He is drowning in both.

He whines, muscles in his arm starting to tremble from exertion, sweat shining all over. His forehead, his chest, his back.

It’s suffocating— that he is so broken he can’t even give himself this. That there isn’t enough of him left to exist on his own. Genji breathes through an artificial lung, and his blood filters through a synthetic liver. There is metal in his brain and rubber stretched over his skin and a little robotic voice box that makes him sound inhuman any time he speaks.

Genji needs his prosthetics. Needs his arm, needs his legs. Needs the cybernetics in his brain to stop hurting. Needs his body to stop trying to reject his ports. Needs to be whole, again, or as whole as he’ll ever be, but right now what he really needs is— 

_ “Jesse, please.” _

It sounds pathetic, even to him, but he can’t take it back.

Doesn’t want to; not when he gets an answer, soft and adoring.

No one but Jesse has ever talked to him that way.

“Oh, dollface,” Jesse says, door whirring closed behind him as he moves closer— back from his mission, damp hair, smelling like the chemical ozone scent of the biotic showers. Dressed in Blackwatch sweats and a black tank top, like he’d expected to find Genji sleeping.

Like he’d expected to crawl in with him. He sits on the edge of the bed instead and cups Genji’s face, wiping wet streaks from his cheek.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

Genji sobs as he turns into Jesse, still frantically trying to work himself, jaw shivery.

“Hurts,” he says, face tucked into Jesse’s stomach, sheets tangled around his thighs. “Can’t… can’t finish, it hurts. Need… need it. Please.”

Jesse leans down to kiss Genji’s temple, palm laid over his arm where it’s trying to give out on him.

“Please what, darlin’? Tell me what you need. Anything.”

Anything.

Genji loves him— has loved him for a while, even if just the thought is enough to send his heart beating too fast, to suck all the air from his lungs— but in that moment it’s so vivid that he can taste it in his mouth.

Can feel it on his face, and he hides in Jesse’s chest, and begs.

“Touch me, please, just— need you, _ fuck.” _

“Shhh, okay, okay. I got you, Genji.”

Jesse picks Genji up, and cradles him against his body until Genji is surrounded. There is so much of Jesse.

Jesse  _ has him. _

Then he eases Genji’s hand off himself, closing his fingers around Genji with another quiet  _ shhhh.  _ Strokes him once, very slowly. Genji sobs.

Genji  _ shakes. _

“Tell me if you need me to stop, sweetheart.”

“Don’t,” Genji says— chokes. “Don’t stop, don’t—  _ please, Jesse.” _

“Alright, it’s okay. I won’t.”

Jesse doesn’t. 

Jesse works Genji slower than he’d been working himself, but his hand is warmer, bigger, stronger. He presses countless kisses into Genji’s hair; into his cheek, over his jaw.  _ There you go, that’s it baby. _

Genji’s noisy, sobbing out breathless little gasps, mouth open against Jesse’s throat. He fists his hand in Jesse’s shirt. 

It still hurts. Genji can feel every piece of steel in his body. Every tube, and wire, every inch of synthetic skin. 

Then it peaks, and fades back, and all Genji feels is Jesse.

He comes over Jesse’s fingers, shuddering through it, moaning out Jesse’s name again and again. Jesse’s shushing him once more,  _ easy, now, easy. _

_ That’s perfect, love, just like that. _

When he stops twisting around in Jesse’s arms and goes loose Jesse is still rubbing gentle circles on his back, still nosing softly through his hair. He’s not jerking him off anymore, but cupping Genji, palm covering him where he’s gone soft under Jesse’s hand. 

“You okay?” 

Genji nods, trying to catch his breath.

“Yes. Thank you, I- I’m… sorry. If that was…”

Bad. Weird. Repulsive.

Something Jesse did out of pity, rather than desire. Then Jesse pulls Genji up higher in his arms, and coaxes his face up.

“You ain’t gotta be sorry. Been wanting it, too. Wanting you.” It isn’t a lie. Jesse doesn’t lie to him. “Let me get cleaned up, and we can take a nap, yeah? I’m fuckin’ beat, and I bet you are too, after that.”

Jesse is only gone for a minute or so, washing his hands in the sink, wiping Genji down with a handful of paper towels. He crawls in bed next to him, and Genji slots himself up against Jesse. Lets Jesse surround him again, all warmth and post mission fatigue. Genji can’t even return the favor, not all on his own. His jaw is delicate from the new implants, his arm sore; a strange place between fragile and invulnerable, the worst sort of work in progress.

Jesse doesn’t seem to mind. Mumbles something quiet and sweet into Genji’s hair, and holds him close, already half asleep. There is nothing he can give Jesse but this, but it’s alright.

Jesse will wait for him.

_ Love you, baby. _

Genji knows it’s true.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things or come yell at me on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/scifictioness?lang=en)


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